


Casper

by IchiBri



Series: A Taste of Sprinkles [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baker Jean Kirstein, Demon Marco Bott, Halloween, M/M, POV First Person, POV Jean Kirstein, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8404966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchiBri/pseuds/IchiBri
Summary: Jean and Marco celebrate Halloween at the bakery.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I can't seem to let go of this series. 
> 
> Since I skipped over Halloween in the main story, I wanted to do something a little special for it as a thank you for all the support I've received till now. Wasn't sure I'd be able to finish it in time, so it's a little rushed. And I do have a few other ideas and add-ons for this au, so I guess I'm not saying goodbye to these boys just yet, lol.

“Are you sure I look… normal?”

I snort, choking on a mouthful of toothpaste.

“I’m being serious.  Do I look normal?  What if they look too real?  Someone might find out.  Or what if I scare the little kids?  Oh my gosh, what if they cry?  I can’t.  This is a bad–”

A wet, sudsy smooch to Marco’s cheek shuts him up.  “You’re adorable.  The kids’ll think you’re cool.”

“Jean~” he whines as he wipes the toothpaste residue from his cheek.  He leans against the bathroom vanity and peers at his reflection in the mirror.  Poking at the horns materialized on his head, he frowns.  “They look too real, right?  And my fangs,” he curls his upper lip to flash the two pointed teeth.  “They’re far from plastic.”

“Nah, you’re fine.”  Lazily bumping my hip into his, he scoots over so I can rinse the taste of mint from my mouth.  Standing shoulder to shoulder, the frayed ends of his wings tickle my naked back.  “If anyone asks, we can say you custom ordered them from some high-end costume artist.  But no one’s gonna ask.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.  People go all out for Halloween nowadays.”  I step back to let Marco continue his preening in the mirror.  He pokes and prods at his horns and teeth and gives his wings a hesitant test flap.  “You might wanna hide the tail though,” I say, trailing my fingers down the small of his back until they feel the smooth silkiness of Marco’s tail.  “It’ll probably be a little awkward if someone asks how it’s attached.”

Marco turns with a feigned gasp.  “Where is your mind so early in the morning?”

“I’m just saying,” I laugh as I leave Marco in the bathroom.

“What are you dressing up as?”

I dig around in the dresser for a pink polo shirt with a cupcake logo on the front and a pair of black slacks.  “A baker.”

“Wha–  That’s cheating!” Marco protests.

I slip the shirt over my head and step into my pants.  “How’s it any different than you going as a demon?”

“Because me being a demon is a secret.”  When Marco leaves the bathroom, his demonic features are concealed.  He steps around me to rummage through his much neater dresser drawers for a matching pastel purple polo and black pants.  “And you’re the one who suggested it.”

“Actually, Reiner did.  I merely passed along the idea.”

“But it’s a good idea, right?  ‘Cause I don’t want to scare the little kids.  If they start crying, I’m gonna cry too.”

I pause at the top step of the spiral staircase and turn back to Marco.  Despite his indecisiveness, Marco cuts thin slivers in the back of the polo shirt for his wings to fit through.  “Oh yeah, pastel purple is _so_ scary.  And a frilly pink apron with a cartoon cupcake logo.  Damn, Marco, that’s what nightmares are made of.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles.  “I guess I’m not scary.”

“Damn right you’re not; you’re fucking adorable.  The kids’ll love you.”

“I hope so,” he murmurs as he wiggles into the shirt.  He smooths the fabric over his stomach before reaching his hand behind himself to find the two slits.  I watch his wings materialize, starting at his shoulder blades and spreading out behind him.

“They will.”

I leave Marco to finish getting dressed.  When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Cupcake meows at me from her perch on a kitchen stool.  She jumps down to the floor and meets me halfway to the fridge, rubbing against my legs and meowing again.

“Mornin’, Sweetheart.”  I bend down to scratch her head.  She continues to meow as she weaves between my feet.  “Okay, okay.  You can have one treat.”  I straighten and reach above the fridge for the little bag of cat treats.  Cupcake paws at my pant leg with another high-pitched meow.  And how can I say no to such a pretty face?  “Fine, you can have two, but don’t tell Marco.”

“Marco can hear you!”

I drop the treats to the floor at Marco’s voice.  A half dozen of them spill from the bag, and Cupcake gobbles them up.  “Cupcake thanks you for the extra treats!” I call as I scoop up the bag and put it back atop the fridge.

“You’re gonna spoil her breakfast.”

“Uh-huh, as if you don’t sneak her treats too.”  Silence.  Yep, we’re both wrapped around her pretty little paws.

I give Cupcake a final pet before walking to the door leading to the cupcakery.  “I’m heading down early.  Got lots of minis to bake today.”

“’Kay.  I’ll join you in a bit.”

I head down the stairwell to the bakery’s kitchen with a broad grin on my face.  I’m not one to actively enjoy the wee hours of the morning, especially when I haven’t downed my daily intake of caffeine yet; but mornings like this – when jittery anticipation has me waking before Marco – I actually don’t mind.  Because it’s not often I get to admire the peacefulness of his sleeping face, get to hear his soft breaths, and watch his eyelids flutter open to greet a new day.

When I flick the switch, light floods the kitchen and reflects off the stainless steel of the appliances and worktables.  Some days, I still wonder how I got lucky enough to call all of this mine.  It still feels so… surreal, like I’m waiting to wake up from a dream.  But each morning, it’s still here.  It never magically disappears no matter how often I stand and stare and wait for it to vanish, for my bubble of a world to pop.

Maybe that’s why days like today give me an extra boost of energy.  Because even though we’re supposed to be closed on Mondays, I’m more than happy to add 15+ hours to my work week to celebrate Halloween with the residents of Trost – for without them, _A Taste of Sprinkles_ wouldn’t be in business.  I probably could’ve skated by with opening only during trick-or-treating hours in the evening, but where’s the holiday spirit in that?

I grab a clipboard and apron from where they hang on the wall.  After setting the clipboard on the worktable, I tie the apron behind my back and glance over the improvised workload.  So many mini cupcakes – gluten free vanilla, chocolate, pumpkin spice, red velvet, salted caramel – need to be prepared, baked, cooled, and ready to be frosted for the trick-or-treaters.  Add to that my normal bake-list and I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.

After thorough sanitizing of the kitchen, I fall into an easy rhythm of measuring ingredients and mixing batters.  It’s second nature now.  The recipes and their measurements have been engraved in my head, so easily remembered while humming to the tunes of classical music.

Hmm, maybe Levi’s rubbed off on me.  But I guess that’s not a bad thing, especially when the music has my boyfriend sashaying to my side with a mug of coffee he barely manages not to spill.  When he offers it to me, I merely stare for a moment.  Fangs peeking out from Marco’s upturned lips shouldn’t surprise me anymore; but their beauty never fails to leave me momentarily stunned.

“Th-thanks,” I stammer as I take the mug from him.  As I down the coffee in a few quick gulps, Marco places themed liners – decorated with cartoon bats and ghosts and skeletons – in baking trays.

It’s all part of the daily routine we’ve established.  I prepare the batters; and when Marco comes down to join me, he scoops the batter into trays and gets them in the oven.  Eventually, Marco heads out front to open shop, and then we’re both going back and forth between the front and the kitchen to help each other out.  Mornings tend to be rough with just the two of us serving businesspeople and students on their way to work and school.  But we manage.  Afternoons tend to be easier because Sasha, Krista, or Ymir drops by to help.  It’s odd being a friend’s boss, but it hasn’t changed anything in any of our relationships.  Evenings are the least stressful, because the loft has somehow become our friend group’s hangout; and it’s surprisingly easy to bribe Reiner and Connie into helping by promising them free cupcakes.

When Marco heads out front today, I watch his wings materialize from thin air.  Their form darkens as he pushes past the bright blue saloon doors.  With his “outfit” complete (he took my advice and keeps his tail hidden), I know I’m right.  He’s downright adorable.  Even staring at his back, I know it to be true.  My adorable, pastel Sprinkles won’t be scaring any little kids today, not when he projects all that is good and pure in this world.

At the first jingle of bells, I quietly laugh at the “Holy crap! Oh, shit, sorry” that a customer says as they enter.  “Damn, nice wings.”

Hearing Marco’s stuttered thanks, I can’t help but peek over the saloon doors.  A deep flush dusts his skin, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.  With each added compliment – even more as a group of barely awake college students stumble in – Marco chews on his bottom lip as his lips threaten to twitch into a broad grin.

I don’t fight against my own smile as I return to work.  After turning off the quiet lull of the background music, I start whipping up a batch of buttercream.  Because instead of instrumentals, I’d rather listen to strangers compliment Marco’s true form – boost his self-confidence without them even knowing.  Maybe today will help convince him that his demonic features are fucking beautiful, breathtaking, and not something to be ashamed of; because the opinion of strangers is unbiased.  Unlike mine.  Mine is extremely biased.  Hell, Marco could be sick with the flu and covered in snot and phlegm, and I’d still think he’s the most beautiful person in the world.

The morning passes quicker than normal, as it tends to when I have a heavy workload.  With minis filling the cooling racks and overflowing into the refrigeration unit, I check the time on the wall clock.  Quarter after twelve.  Sasha should be here any sec–

“Happy Halloween!  I brought the DVDs!”  Speak of the devil, or should I say witch?

Untying my apron, I hang it back in its rightful place before walking out front to see Sasha waving a couple DVDs in her hand.  My eyes bulge at the gory imagery on the covers.  I dart around a table and few chairs to snatch the DVDs from her.

“Child friendly environment,” I hiss when she tries to steal them back.

“Your face isn’t child friendly,” she sticks her tongue out before offering her sweetest smile.

“Rude.”

“Still true, though.”  She walks around me and slips behind the display cases.  “Afternoon, Marco,” she greets in a singsong voice as she ties the signature frilly apron around her back.

“Hi,” Marco responds, offering a soft smile as he boxes up a half dozen cupcakes for a customer.

I wait for him to finish and to swap places with Sasha before the two of us head back up to the loft for lunch.  I lay the DVDs on the kitchen island and then dig some _Lunchables_ out from the bottom drawer of the fridge.

“We’re not going to watch these, are we?”

I slide atop the stool next to Marco as he buries the DVDs beneath a pile of old mail.  “Horror movie night, remember?”

He groans.  “But I voted for _Casper_!”

“We were outvoted.”

“But it’s our TV,” he pouts as he rips open the packaging.  At the sound of the plastic tearing, Cupcake comes racing down the stairs and lithely jumps on the counter.  “Yes, yes, here you go,” Marco says as he offers her a piece of shredded mozzarella.

Yep, our little girl is spoiled rotten.

“I’ll protect you from the chainsaw wielding killers and batshit crazy poltergeists.”

“Who’s gonna protect you then?”

“Oi, I may scream like a little bitch, but it’s not gonna stop me from punching the psychopath in the face.”

Marco chuckles as he offers Cupcake another piece of cheese.  “Or we could outrun them and survive.”

I huff a breath.  “I guess that’s an option.”  Not as fun as punching an asshole, but I guess it’d work.  Seems like Marco would be the character smart enough to survive a horror movie.  Me, not so much.

The rest of the afternoon is spent frosting and decorating mini cupcakes.  Sasha and Marco set up a few tiered display stands as I pipe spider web designs and form witch’s hats from fondant and cut out chocolate bat wings.  We fill the displays to the brim with cupcakes, and it frees up enough space on my worktables that Sasha can help decorate the tiny cakes.

Half an hour before trick-or-treating starts, Reiner waltzes through the front door and drags a more reserved Bertl behind him.  I nearly drop the tray of cupcakes I’m carrying and have to set them down on a table when I burst into laughter.  “Are you serious right now?” I choke out between gasped breaths.

“You said child friendly.  What’s more child friendly than giant crayons?”

Emphasis on giant.

I wipe the tears from my eyes, but it’s a futile effort.  They only renew with every glance at the bulky human crayon duo in my shop.  The red and blue traffic cones atop Reiner’s and Bertholdt’s heads (respectively) are icing on this crayon cake.

“At least we dressed up.  What are you supposed to be?” Reiner questions.

“A baker.”

“That’s cheating,” he proclaims.

“Told you so,” Marco chimes in.

I glare at Marco – who only laughs at my expense – because that little shit knows full well he’s not one to talk.

As if I needed any more ruckus, the bells on the door jingle to announce the entry of three more ridiculously dressed friends.  Or well, two; because Krista looks cute in a sparkly blue Cinderella dress.  The lumpy pumpkin and striped bedsheet ghost, on the other hand, look utterly ridiculous.

“Oh my fuc– fudging god!”  The walking bedsheet monster races to throw her arms around Marco.  “Freckle Buddy, my boy, switch costumes with me.”

Marco visibly stiffens with a nervous little laugh.  His gaze finds mine.

I step behind the counter with them.  “Yeah no, let’s not.”  I grab a handful of Ymir’s bedsheet and drag her with me to the kitchen.

Ymir plants herself atop my only stool.  “Ahh no fair!  I just wanna touch his horns.  Like damn, where’d he get them?”

“Custom ordered,” I say as I return to piping eyes on marshmallow ghosts.

Ymir whistles at that.  She sits still for barely a minute before slowly slinking off the stool.

“If you’re going to bother my boyfriend, you could at least take a tray out with you.”

She perks up like a child on a sugar rush.  She grabs a tray of minis before hightailing it through the swinging doors.

“Be gentle!” I call after her, referring to both my cupcakes and my boyfriend.  But from the startled _Eep!_ of Marco, I’d take it Ymir doesn’t listen.

“Jean, we need more chocolate minis.”

“Here, here,” I scramble to fill a tray with cupcakes and hand it to Sasha.

She takes it from me and heads back out.  She pauses, “Oh, and not that your ego needs the boost, but the kids are loving them.”

I snort at her phrasing.  Part of me wants to say _Of course, they do. My cupcakes are perfect_ , but that’d only reinforce Sasha’s belief in my giant ego.  So, I hold my tongue out of spite.

But the moment she’s gone, I follow after her, stopping at the saloon doors.  My breath stutters in my lungs as I look out upon my bakery.  It’s never been so full, so lively before.  We get plenty of business on a regular day, but nothing quite like this.  Costumed children and their guardians, students and young adults – all dressed up and eating cupcakes.

And Marco.  Ah, my heart does this little flutter in my chest when I spot the beaming smile adorning his lips.  Princesses, superheroes, pirates, and even a baby bumblebee surround him with looks of awe and wonder, asking to touch his wings and if he’d be willing to take a photo with them.  Which he does because he’s such a softie.  And damn, demon Marco should become our poster boy with how popular he is.

“Salted caramel,” pumpkin Connie shoves a tray in my face.

And just like that I’m snapped out of my admiration of Marco mode.  My work speed accelerates, piping and frosting as fast as I can without letting the quality suffer.  When the remaining minis are finally decorated and lined on trays, I join the rest of the gang in handing them out.

Now I’m not one to enjoy the company of a bunch of little gremlins masquerading as tiny humans, but even I can’t deny the cuteness of kids dressed up as butterflies and firefighters and aliens.  And as long as they’re not screaming or throwing a tantrum, I’ll gladly interact with the little monsters.

My gaze turns to Marco, as it tends to every chance it gets.  He’s sitting on his haunches and listening to a little girl in a T-rex costume shyly say _trick-or-treat_.  He smiles so softly and warmly as he offers the girl a red velvet cupcake.  The child hesitates for a moment; but when she looks up to see the gentle kindness shining in Marco’s eyes, her cheeks flush.  She bashfully accepts the cupcake and quietly says, “Th-thank you,” before running back to her father’s side.

Same, little dino girl, same.

A tug on my wrist draws my attention to the child standing in front of me.  A little girl with big brown eyes and a head covered in thick curls stares up at me.  “Are you a real baker?” she asks.

I bend down to one knee.  “Yes, I am.  And it looks like you are too.”

The girl puffs up with pride as she straightens the baker’s hat atop her head and brushes a nonexistent speck of dust from her double-breasted jacket.  “I’m a pastry chef,” she proudly proclaims.

“Well, Miss Pastry Chef, how’d you like two cupcakes?”

“Really?”

I reach behind myself to grab two minis off the table and offer them to the child.  “From one baker to another.  It can be our little secret.”

“Thanks!” she chirps.  I watch her skip back to her guardian (an older sister, maybe?) and share the extra cupcake with her.  She turns back to me with a toothy grin on her face and waves as she leaves.

I’m almost sad to watch trick-or-treating come to an end, to see the shop and streets quiet down, to flip the sign on the door to _Closed_.  That is until Ymir stumbles down from the loft to declare that the pizzas are ready.  Then it’s every person for themself as we stampede up the stairs and leave cleaning of the bakery to tomorrow.  Which I’ll definitely regret at 4 a.m. tomorrow, but that’s a problem for future me.

“Oi, where’d you put the DVDs?”

“Lost ‘em!” I call down to Sasha as Marco and I change into pajamas.

Marco muffles a laugh.  “Guess we’re watching _Casper_.”

“ _Casper_ was vetoed.  Let it go,” Sasha retorts.  “Oh!  Found them!”

Marco deflates with a huff.  “But _Casper_.”

“I’ll watch _Casper_ with you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“’Kay,” he parrots.

“Earth to lovebirds!  We’re turning off the lights and starting the movie in 10… 9… 8…”

Marco and I fumble to scoop up the mountain of blankets and pillows we’ve stockpiled and race down the stairs.  We make it to the bottom step before Connie flips off the lights and Ymir presses play.

“Fuck you guys!” I throw a plush heart pillow at the back of Ymir’s head.  It misses Ymir and hits Reiner instead.

“No thanks.  Not into orgies,” Ymir says.

“Ugh, gross,” I groan.  I drop pillows and blankets over their heads and toss some to Sasha and Connie in the loveseat.

Oh, that’s right.  My old couch is no longer a lonely piece of furniture.  Marco and I picked out a loveseat and recliner set – placed diagonally on either side of the couch – to add to our TV space.

Dragging the last blanket behind me, I join Marco on the plush recliner.  I sink into its cloudlike comfort, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder with Marco.  Squished together, Marco drapes an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side.  I curl up against him as he raises the footrest.

“Still scared of ax-wielding killers?” I whisper to him.

“Never stopped,” he says, pulling the blanker higher.

“If it makes you feel any better, Sasha and Connie are closest to the doors so they’ll die first.”

“Wow, thanks,” Connie stage whispers.  “I feel so loved.”

“You’d do the same thing!”

Connie laughs, “Yeah~”

“Shh, we’re getting to the good part,” Sasha flicks Connie’s cheek.

By _good part_ , I’m going to assume she meant bad part.  Never before have I heard grown ass adults scream like little children, myself included.  And yeah, there’s no way in hell any of us are getting a wink of sleep tonight.  Fuck, I’m gonna regret this when I have to work at 4 a.m.

“Jean~” Marco quietly whines as he hides his face in my hair.  He clings to me, fingers digging into my arm.  “ _Casper_ wouldn’t betray me like this.”

Fuck sleep.  I gotta protect Sprinkles from psychopaths and evil ghosts.  So, future me, I’m sorry for the sleep deprivation.  Good luck surviving on nothing but coffee.


End file.
